


crave it, chase it

by iridiumring92



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, Developing Relationship, Flirting, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Game, light alcohol use, mentioned Felix and Ingrid, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridiumring92/pseuds/iridiumring92
Summary: Sylvain asks Dimitri on a date. Dimitri doesn't know what to think.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	crave it, chase it

**Author's Note:**

> the title of this document for the first like. 1k words was "DIMIVAIN… WE OUT HERE" lol
> 
> title is from "make you feel" by alina baraz and galimatias. "you gotta crave it and chase it / until you're close enough to taste it"

It’s late, much later than Dimitri should be awake, but he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to block out the thoughts that keep circling back to him.

 _So, Your Majesty,_ Sylvain’s voice says, incessantly, _would you be opposed to me asking you on a date?_ He can practically hear the wink in Sylvain’s voice. _Or is me and you outside the realm of possibility? Couldn’t hurt to ask._

Dimitri wants to go back and ask him whether he had posed those questions in desperation or true interest. He isn’t sure which is more unsettling.

Besides, Dimitri has never managed to set foot in the world where Sylvain lives—he knows little about dating and romantic relationships, even despite Sylvain’s efforts to force him into something like it back at the academy. He has no idea if Sylvain’s invitation means courtship, or if it’s simply an invitation for companionship. And even when he considers each scenario, he doesn’t know what to make of it. What would it look like, being courted by the heir to Gautier? Or, alternatively—and this second option is the one that burns in the back of his mind, ceaselessly—being his lover? The thought speeds his heartbeat, though he’s not sure if it’s with excitement or fear.

He thinks of his response to Sylvain's offer—this is another thought that won’t leave his mind, along with the certainty that if his classmates knew of it, they would laugh. His stammered _I—I don’t know, Sylvain, you could at least give me a moment’s notice, couldn’t you?_ before he all but ran away. He half wonders if Sylvain asked him simply to get under his skin, to have ammunition to use against him, or a story to boost his own self-esteem. He cringes at the idea and tries to promptly dismiss it.

Then again, if Sylvain means to keep this between them, if he desires only to be used, would Dimitri still acquiesce? Would he want such a thing as Sylvain might?

Dimitri shivers and tries to push that thought away, too. He doesn’t need such distractions, and besides, it’s possible that Sylvain didn’t mean a word of it. He should put the conversation behind him. Things will be easier, he tells himself, if he does.

Yet, as he tries to convince himself to sleep, those thoughts continue to flicker like shadows on the edges of his mind.

* * *

Dimitri is in the stables when Sylvain approaches him again.

“Your Majesty,” his voice calls from somewhere behind Dimitri, prompting all his muscles to tense at the unseen threat. He hears Sylvain step closer as he forces his own body to be still, and his voice softens as he closes the distance between them. “Have I given you adequate time to think about what I asked? Or do you need a while longer?”

Dimitri turns, finding Sylvain leaning against a wooden beam, the picture of nonchalance. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s smirking. But, Dimitri notices, there’s a slight flush to his cheeks, too, one that could be attributed to anything from the warmth of the air here to nerves, if he dares think it. He tucks the information away. “I’ve thought about it,” he says slowly, willing his voice not to waver. “But I’m afraid I don’t know what it was you were really asking me.”

Sylvain laughs, tipping his head back as he does and baring his throat. “I asked you on a date, Dimitri,” he says, finally dropping the title in favor of his name. Hearing it on Sylvain’s lips is a breath of relief. “You really need me to explain that to you?”

“It’s not that, so much,” Dimitri stammers. He can already feel himself getting nervous, having to ask Sylvain this. “I just . . . What is it you want from a date with me? Is this about the future, about my title? Or is it simply . . . Is it about sex?” He tries to keep his expression, his voice, neutral, but he feels his face warming at the very words, and he guesses he’s probably ruined his chances.

Sylvain smiles, but this time it’s not the smirk he wore when he first arrived. It’s softer, and Dimitri finds himself studying the curve of his mouth, the way it carries such a smile. He has to tear his eye away, meeting Sylvain’s gaze and hoping he won’t comment on the fact that Dimitri was already looking at his lips.

“Well, if you’re interested, I can certainly make it happen,” Sylvain says, though something about it is halfhearted. “Honestly, I was just hoping we could go out and see where things end up. You know. No strings attached.”

 _Doesn’t sound any different from your usual conquests,_ Dimitri almost snaps, but he stops himself before the words can escape. His hands are trembling. When he allows himself to think of being with Sylvain, he feels warmth building in him, starting just under his ribs. It makes his chest ache.

He pushes away the snippets of imagined touches that tumble over one another and looks at Sylvain again.

“I’d like that,” he says as evenly as he can.

* * *

Sylvain takes him out for tea, and their conversation is sparse and stilted, the atmosphere between them possibly the most awkward it’s been in all the years they’ve known each other. Once they’re finished, Sylvain walks with him through Fhirdiad’s back streets and starts telling a story about when they were younger. The reminder of their childhood warms Dimitri, and he smiles and chimes in, reminding Sylvain of more of their stories.

Back at the castle, in the gardens, they walk side by side again. They speak less this time, having exhausted their quantity of memories as the sun dipped toward the horizon, and touch more. At first it’s Sylvain’s hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, lasting only a moment as they pass through a narrow walkway. Then his hand brushes Dimitri’s hand, and, unseen between the hedges, they hold, clasping each other’s hands in wild delight. Sylvain pulls a flower from one of the bushes and presents it to Dimitri, his face flushed, and Dimitri aches for him so much it hurts.

They kiss beneath the long shadows of the trees, Sylvain’s hand fisted in Dimitri’s cloak, Dimitri’s hands in Sylvain’s hair.

They sneak into the wine cellar, as if they’re younger again and not allowed, and Sylvain takes a bottle of dark red wine that he says he’s never tried before. They drink it in the privacy of Dimitri’s chambers. Sylvain tells him the flavor is deep and sweet and rich, and Dimitri imagines that he can taste it on Sylvain’s lips.

Much later, in Dimitri’s bed, Sylvain undresses him to the waist, presses reverent hands and lips to his scars. Dimitri responds, arching into Sylvain’s touch and gasping. He lets Sylvain pull off the patch over his eye and trace gentle kisses over the scar there.

Dimitri gets Sylvain to undress, too, and though he doesn’t know quite _how_ to touch or be gentle, he brushes caresses over Sylvain’s body, kisses his bare skin. He takes note of what Sylvain seems to like. His own body responds when Sylvain shudders and moans at his ministrations.

At last, Sylvain reaches down to unlace Dimitri’s pants, draws the fabric away from his skin, drags hands down over his legs as he does. Dimitri watches him with something like fascination. He shivers at Sylvain’s touch as Sylvain frees him from the rest of his clothing.

Sylvain ducks between Dimitri’s thighs. He’s already half taken Dimitri into his mouth when his eyes slide up, questioning, silently asking _Is it okay?_ Dimitri nods, fists a hand in Sylvain’s hair, grips hard when Sylvain finally works to take him all the way in. He digs his heels into the mattress, moans Sylvain’s name, again and again.

He doesn’t get a chance to warn Sylvain—his climax hits him hard, and he throws his head back and howls. Sylvain takes it in stride, swallowing around him. He kisses the crease of Dimitri’s hip, the swell of his thigh. He stretches back up to press kisses to the corner of Dimitri’s mouth, his jaw, his neck. Dimitri pulls him back for a kiss. He wonders how it would feel to taste himself on Sylvain’s lips.

Sylvain dips his head to kiss the space just below Dimitri’s ear, and as he does, Dimitri feels how hard he is. He grasps Sylvain’s hips, holds them tight as he pulls Sylvain flush against him, and Sylvain makes desperate noises into the curve of Dimitri’s neck as he rubs off against Dimitri’s thigh. He spills over onto Dimitri’s skin. Whimpers at the pressure of Dimitri’s hands, licks sweat from the hollow of his throat.

Dimitri cups Sylvain’s face in his hands, looks into his eyes, dark in the light from the candles. “Sylvain,” he says, softly, much more softly now than he had earlier, “you are—a considerate lover, and you deserve much better than me.”

“Don’t say that,” Sylvain says. He’s smiling, but his smile is sad. “I like you, Your Maj—uh, Dimitri. I wouldn’t have asked you on a date otherwise. You’re not like the others, not for me.” He stretches out at Dimitri’s side, his warm skin pressed against Dimitri’s along the lines of his body. A teasing note enters his voice when he speaks again. “You also made me feel really nice, and I’d love to do this again. Will you let me stay the night?”

Dimitri tries to hold his response back, tries to keep himself from sounding too eager, but he’s fairly sure he doesn’t succeed. “Of course you can stay the night,” he says and rolls onto his side to kiss Sylvain. Sylvain’s hands find his chest and slide lazily down his abdomen to his hips.

“I hate to break it to you, though, Dimitri, but I don’t think the people I’ve been with would agree that I’m considerate,” Sylvain says when they pull away. “And you’ve known me for how long now? Trust me, I appreciate the compliment, but you might just be giving me too much credit.”

Dimitri murmurs something incoherent in response. He’s already drifting toward sleep on tides of residual pleasure. “Hold on, babe, let me get us cleaned up,” he hears Sylvain say before his weight and warmth disappear from the bed. He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t mind Sylvain calling him that in the slightest.

He feels Sylvain come back to clean them up, and then Sylvain’s mouth on his mouth, drawing a few last, lingering kisses from him. Dimitri reaches out for Sylvain without opening his eye and kisses back sleepily.

“Good night, Dimitri,” Sylvain says gently, and Dimitri turns that sentence, the sound of his voice, over in his mind until he falls asleep.

* * *

Weeks later, long past the time when the rest of the castle seems to have fallen asleep, Sylvain and Dimitri sit in the gardens, side-by-side on a stone bench that Sylvain joked earlier could probably take the pressure if they decided to have sex. This, of course, caused a blush to blaze across Dimitri’s cheeks. Sylvain laughed and kissed him on one of those cheeks and said he was just teasing.

Now Dimitri’s hand rests over his on the bench between them. Occasionally, he runs his fingers over the back of Sylvain’s hand, drawing a shiver from Sylvain. Once, when Dimitri strokes his hand this way, Sylvain responds by leaning over and kissing him deeply. Dimitri moans at the sudden contact, his hand skating up Sylvain’s thigh and to his lower back.

“This is what I was talking about, Your Majesty,” Sylvain says, breathless, when they break away. He’s trying not to bring to mind the idea of Dimitri fucking him on this bench, the stone cold against his back, Dimitri’s body warm against his own. It’s already beginning to form, but he fights it back along with the shivers that Dimitri’s touch to his thigh and back brought him. “You’re gonna get me all worked up, and I won’t even be able to make it back to my room without you. . . .”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri sighs. “We really can’t. Not out here.” Still, he brings Sylvain closer, his nose against Sylvain’s neck as he breathes in his scent. “We haven’t even told the rest of our class.”

“Yeah, okay, you have a point.” Sylvain doesn’t even want to think about telling the rest of their class, not after Felix’s and Ingrid’s respective reactions, and letting their class find out one way or another that they had sex in public is not the way he wants them to learn. He’s pitched the idea of never telling anyone else that they’ve been together, but he gets the sense that Dimitri feels bad about keeping secrets. “Can I lean on you?”

Dimitri gives a soft laugh. “You’ve slept in my bed, Sylvain. You’ve practically slept on top of me. You don’t have to ask.”

“Hey, I don’t want to scare you or anything. It’s not like we’re in your bed _now_.” Sylvain slides closer to him, leans his head on Dimitri’s shoulder. He sighs. “You’re so warm.”

Dimitri slips an arm around his waist and turns his head to kiss Sylvain’s temple, to which Sylvain responds with a small hum of contentment. He could probably stay here forever, ignoring the eventual ache in his neck, reveling in the fact that Dimitri was there beside him.

“Also, you don’t have to call me ‘Your Majesty,’” Dimitri says after a long moment.

Sylvain makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s not like I’m actually the prince consort.”

“Well, at the very least, you’re a friend,” Dimitri says, “or a lover, if you prefer. So, as my longtime friend, or lover, you do not have to call me ‘Your Majesty.’”

“You wouldn’t find it hot?” Sylvain teases, nudging him. When Dimitri only turns his head to look at him, Sylvain clarifies, “You know. If I did it in bed.”

Dimitri flushes and turns away. Sylvain nudges him again and kisses his shoulder, though it’s covered by his cloak. “I’m teasing you, babe—uh, Dimitri. I can call you ‘Your Majesty’ in bed, but only if you want me to.”

“I’d just prefer ‘Dimitri’ for now,” Dimitri says softly. “Both in and outside the bedroom. Please.”

“Old habits die hard, you know.”

“We’ve been friends since we could walk, Sylvain. You don’t remember how to address me by my name?”

Sylvain sighs. “Yeah, it’s hard. When we were at the academy . . . I really wanted to just call you Dimitri, not ‘Your Highness’ or whatever. I liked the way your name sounded on my lips.” He settles against Dimitri again. “But there were so many reminders. Reminders that I shouldn’t call you that, reminders that you were going to be king. So I kept trying to train myself not to use your name.”

“Well, if it’s that deeply ingrained,” Dimitri says, “I suppose I shouldn’t pressure you to relearn it, but if you do really like calling me by my name that much . . . you should.”

“Might slip out once in a while.” Sylvain grins. He realizes as he does that even the act of smiling is a lot of work, as he’s incredibly tired. They’re out late, and after the meetings and paperwork and training he went through today, he aches for some rest. “If I stay here much longer, I think I’m going to fall asleep on you.” He hesitates. “You mind if I sleep in your bed again tonight?”

He hears Dimitri huff out a laugh. He threads gentle fingers through Sylvain’s hair. “Of course I don’t mind, Sylvain.” With that, he stands up, offering a hand. Sylvain’s scalp is still tingling pleasantly from the hand in his hair. He takes Dimitri’s gloved hand, meeting his one blue eye as he stands from the bench. Together, they walk back through the gardens, toward the castle.

Sylvain doesn’t know what this night will hold, or the next, or the one after that, but he’s content to let them take him where they will, for as long as he breathes, and as long as he can still hold Dimitri in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SOFT BUT DAMN IT GOT SOFT REAL QUICK. and then "binge drinking & d.h. lawrence" was stuck in my head and the "carefree-ness" of that song made its way into this fic and now i… i am pain haha
> 
> also this was partially inspired by "habit" by gabrielle shonk and the actual plot of the fic didn't end up following the lyrics of that song at all.
> 
> i am yelling into the void on twitter as [@iridiumring92](https://twitter.com/iridiumring92/)


End file.
